Where Am I?

An hour ago, I wrote this title.  Then my phone rang.

I'm sure I had some excellent, life-changing hook when I wrote that title.

It's gone now.

I remember thinking that sometimes it's hard to find yourself under the muck of life.  Work.  Home (cleaning, laundry, the accumulation of daily "kibble").  Social. ...

[Give me a minute to laugh at that last one.]

At times I find that my life feels too much like a gerbil running in its wheel.  A constant go ... without going anywhere.  Where has this summer gone? 

Let's see ... *enter rambling mode*

****

Ooh! I started a three month long "boot camp" class in June. *proud smile*

Seriously! I showed up the first day at 5:30 a.m. (whimper), excited but nervous about this new class, ready to "be all I can be" ... but in the completely civilian can-leave-anytime way, only to hear, after the greetings, "Okay ... let's go run a mile." 

Ah ... Whodawhat?

Run? A mile?  I don't run. 

Ever. 

These tennis shoes are five years old, man. 

No ... you don't understand.  I was that girl in her college fitness "class " that the professor saw rounding the corner during a run as a signal to tell the rest of the class to turn around and head back.  I was a new kind of super hero - - Shin-Splint Girl. 

Or ... if you'd rather ... "Side-Ache Woman."

I was the inspiration for the professor digging out flippers during the swimming portion of class after a sadly comical episode of me clinging up and down the wall of the pool.  Yeeeeeah.

If college taught me nothing else, it taught me that I am not a closet athlete no matter what my inner high-school geek tried to sell me in a band-camp induced hysteria.  But it began much earlier.

I "played" 7th grade volleyball and basketball. 

And then I thought I'd rather keep the few friends I have rather than thoroughly piss them off by screwing up each and every game.  I became "Score Book Girl" instead.  Hey ... no pressure, I got to ride with the team AND ... they PAID me to do so.  Win - Oh so win.

So my college "Health Dynamics" class aka "Health Die" was the last time I toyed with the idea of possibly being more athletic than ... well ... any other living thing.

Scratch that ... plants grow.

Any other inert thing.

Yep.  I am more athletic than a rock.  Unless someone picks it up and skips it across a lake.

I saw my feeble non-athletic life flash before my eyes as I huffed and puffed my way (and walked and ran) through a mile in under *gasp* 15 minutes.  Then I managed 38 full sit ups in 2 minutes and 8 standard push ups (with 30 girlie ones). 

And then I threw up.  Honestly.  Don't eat dairy before an early morning workout. 

And ... you're welcome.

That was month one.

Month two found me dreading each 5:30 a.m. workout yet feeling strong immediately after.  My body, of course, completely rebelled during this time.  I was bloated and convinced I'd entered into some sort of peri-menopausal hell.  I felt stronger but hadn't lost inches or weight.  I occasionally vomited during class and had heart palpitations.

Oh joy.  I'm old.

In mid-July, I gave in and went to my doctor's office.  A normal EKG was followed by the ordering of a stress echocardiogram and new birth control prescription. *eye roll*

I missed one class in July.

Enter month three, August 2012, and envision dread turning to 'OH HELL NO' mid month.  Rather than the stronger, leaner woman I'd envisioned at the beginning of the summer, I found a hormonal mass of nerves that had actually GAINED weight rather than lost any.  I felt like I'd worked harder than ever only to fail ... and fail miserably. 

Oh sure ... my mile was 2 minutes faster, my sit ups were in the mid-50's and my standard push ups were in the twenties ... but, dammit ... bloated and heavier does not incentive create.

I am a boot camp class dropout. 

Stellar summer, you?

***

About that stress echocardiogram.  Wow.  I was nervous when I arrived for it, having fasted for 8 hours, and dressed as instructed in workout clothes.  That request seemed appropriate since I'd be presumably walking then running on a treadmill to increase my heart rate.

First words in the room?  "Please remove all clothing from your waist up."

"Sports bra?"

"That too."

*cocked eyebrow*

So, let me get this straight.  You're going to put me on a treadmill and run me like a rodent until my heart rate reaches optimum capacity ... and I'm bra-less???????!!!!!!  I realize the girls are named Betty and Bertha and not Dolly but ... dude ... flopping will not be pleasant ... for either of us.

FINE.

Oh, no worries ... I have a wonderful doctor's dressing gown that will ... wait ... this isn't a gown.  This is a poncho that opens in the front. 

This is a FLORAL poncho that opens in the front.

I came into that facility a normal human being and within five minutes, I became "Floral Girl" ready to smack kindly men in their faces ... no hands, ma!  I donned black workout pants, a floral cape, and multiple nodes stuck to my chest with dangling wires but, hey, let's take my blood pressure again so, here, I'll put my hand on your shoulder for balance.  Awkward?

Of course not (said no one ever under these circumstances).

I was instructed over and over again to remember that when I reached the maximum heart rate, when I could go no further, I needed to stop the treadmill, immediately sit down on the cot next to it, roll onto my other side, and try not to huff and puff the poor echocardiogram technician away as I attempted not to pass out.

Humble does not sufficiently describe the woman who left that day.

***

 

Where am I?

 

At times, overwhelmed.  At times, bored.  Most times, unorganized. 

 

Where am I?

 

Staring down a Labor Day Weekend with family.  

Where am I?

Sitting quietly on a love seat, covered with a blanket, and typing with no real thought as to what I'm throwing out to the 'verse. 

So ...

Where are you?

Burn, Baby, Burn ...

"Don't burn your bridges."

Sound familiar? This is the often cited advice to maintain the ties that bind. Nurture relationships. Smooth over the paths have have led you to where you are today.  Sometimes this is good advice.  There really is no need to be hurtful or, let's say, overly generous with your bad opinions of someone needlessly.

But ... (there's always a but, isn't there? And/or an ass ... but that's a different story)

Sometimes ... those ties only bind.  Uncomfortably ... in a tight, itchy way.  Sometimes ... you can "smooth" so much that the landscape isn't remotely yours anymore.  Sometimes those ties should be cut and bridges burned. 

Blown up even.

I grew up trying to make everyone like me and would get truly upset if I seemed to fail.  I remember in school that I would fret and agonize over what I did or said to anger someone.  Did I not give the "right" opinion?  Did I not wear the "right" clothes?  Like the "right" people? Say the "right" thing?  I would actually apologize for ... well ... being me.  I've had relationships in which it felt there was always some battle, some argument, with no positive outcome.  Ooh, and lots of what seemed like one-way bridges.  You know, my way or the highway type relationships wherein if you didn't fall in line then you were either unwanted and/or belittled. 

** Hold on while I recall and seethe for just a moment **

** Or two **

I've found as an adult *cough* that navigating the online world of social media can bring me back to those feelings of inadequacy.  I've "accepted" friends, especially from high school, who have later deleted me.  Sometimes I understood the reason but often they simply disappeared and I was left wondering once again ... what did I do? 

Yeah ... I'm still learning to stop that. 

I'm learning that sometimes those are the bridges that should be hacked and burned, detonated with TNT - Wiley style.  I'm still learning that I'm not here to be what you thought I was or want me to be.  An online friend just today shared a saying - "May the bridges I burn light the way."  [Thanks Betsy!]  I'd alter that just slightly to "May the bridges I burn light my way." 

Cutting ties can be difficult but if anything holds you back from simply being you, cut it.  Carve it out like a dark spot on an apple and then relish flipping that switch on the garbage disposal because you don't need it.

[Wow.  Can I cram in the analogies or what ... ]

In short, I'm me.  [And short. Bahaha.] 

I can be witty, kind, and loving.  I can also be crass, bitchy, and a smartass.  I don't set out to offend others but I do at times.  If you happen to fall within that category, all I can say is ... 1) I doubt I intended it; 2) I understand that neither of us is always right; and 3) I'll likely do it again so .. yeeeeah. 

Take me ... or by all means ... leave me.

Burn, baby, burn.




[Note: I have also been a person who deleted others.  Usually, it was because I had little to no prior connection to the person and I tried to put a disclaimer up before doing it.  I hope it was read and understood but, again, if you fall within that category, I can truly say it was not done to hurt or anger you ... ah, see, there I go again trying to make sure everyone likes me.  Damn it.  Ah, well.]

 

From Beautiful to Bitter and Alone in Three (Yes, THREE) Emails

I know, I know ... Where the Hell have I been?!  I've been sucked into a pre-holiday work deadline, then sucked happily into a holiday vacation, and sucked backed into a new year - the LAST, yo, 2012 ... before 2013 - and then, well, just really, really, Olympic medal level lazy.  Lots of sucking going on.

Seriously, if only there were a sport that emphasized my strengths of laziness and procrastination OTHER than golf.  Not that I don't appreciate smacking balls around with a big stick but I think my version would tend to both remove some of the possible gene pool from the world (not necessarily a bad thing) and land me in prison (not ready to be Bertha's bitch).

Anyhoo ... on to today's highly entertaining and equally embarrassing/pathetic topic.  [I know, I've totally sucked you in with that description AND managed to add more sucking to this post at the same time.]  As you recall, I fell backasswards into Match.com once again back in October.  And, as you recall, I lamented about the many men who were only seeking women younger than themselves.  My curiosity coupled with my, um, charm led me to the following encounter/smack down:

------ Sometime several weeks into my Match.com adventure 2011 ------

------ Cue misty fadeback music ------

In early November, I was stunned to get an email from a good-looking and seemingly normal guy.  He said that he liked what I had to say and called me "quite beautiful" before asking me where I've been hiding.  I know, right!? I responded back with what I thought was wit, talking about how I do tend to hide while riding around in my elusive vehicle (the highly visible Wonka Tonka) and frequenting the same unknown coffee place (a local, busy Biggby - it is my happy place) each day.  Yes, yes, I was being a smart-ass, which IS WHAT I AM, PEOPLE, and ended the email by thanking him - yes, THANKING him - for the compliment.

Now, my profile talks of my sarcasm and cynicism - I'm not into acting like someone I'm not just to meet someone who will be likely disappointed once my "forked tongue" (infra) comes into view. 

Honesty; it's a necessary if not beautiful thing.

The guy responded in what I thought was a playful way - HIM:  "You scion coffee drinkers are all the same...hiding like hamsters all wired on skinny lattes...just waiting to spring out and make a normal guy like me, smitten by your match profile.  A conspiracy at work...(squeek squeek)."

Oooh ... someone who can joke with me, right?  But, whoa ... something about his profile was both familiar and curious.  He is 45 years old and seeking females ages 29-44.  Yep - won't even look up to his own age.  Hmm. 

I RESPOND: "Ah, normal remains to be seen.  I think WD40 might help with that squeak.  So what do your normal days look like [name removed]?  What do you do for fun?  And, I don't know if you saw one of my earlier versions of my profile [for the reader - my cougar version] but I have to ask ... why, if you're done with having kids, are you only looking at women younger than yourself?  Inquiring minds and all that :)  "  [Yes, I included the smiley in an attempt to show I meant no real harm with my question.]

So ... I honestly was not expecting this as HIS RESPONSE:

Normal?  Well, I am a man's man (not gay..although there isn't anything wrong with that).  I don't drive a Scion (or Kia), or drink lattes.  I drink coffee and drive an SUV (maybe I should have said boring?).  Anywho..for fun I spend every waking second winking at 28 year olds on dating sites..(it is an exercise I find both futile and frustrating).  I then spend my spare time deleting winks from 50 year olds that look like my grandma (ever notice how friggin' EVERY profile starts out with, "I am laid back")??  So besides hurling yourself from planes and carving up innocent people..(oops, I mean pumpkins..must have slipped because I remembered you're a lawyer) what do you do for fun?  Well back to the dating sites.  I've got laid back grandmas I need to put the "smack down" on.

Raise your hand if you think I MIGHT have struck a nerve.  I'll wait.

Apparently, some damage control is necessary here.  MY THIRD EMAIL:

Oh my. Ha! Okay, since we lose tone in email, I'm not quite sure if my question pissed you off or if you're just playing.  I, too, understand the woe of the older (much older) winks and emails.  For me, the older the person, the older I feel but too young is just ... yeah, not good either in a different way.  But you, sir, don't even go up to your own age; now, you're not alone - I've noticed many guys do that.  I'm just curious.

What do I do for fun? It's hard to think of things not already on my profile.  Movies are a big love.  I'm trying to decide if I'm going to see The Debt this weekend or perhaps 50/50 or Clue (which I'm not sure I've EVER seen all the way through - I know, outrage).  I'm close to [removed 'cause 'ya'll' don't need to know where I live and what theaters I frequent].  I love reading, although that occurs in spurts depending on work.  After reading transcripts all day long, I sometimes need a break.  I write sporadically [followed by other personal stuff.]  I enjoy my summer volunteer time [followed by more personal stuff].  I collect cookie jars and character glasses.

[I can almost see you backing away slowly from the computer.] [<--Yes, this part WAS in the email.]

"Carving up innocent people?"  No, no, [followed by an explanation about what I do.]

I've been divorced for about 7 years; [followed by even more personal stuff].  I've dated off and on during that time and have remained friends with several of those guys.  You?  How long have you been out in the land of singlehood again?

Now, having read that, am I wrong to think it was obvious that I was ready to continue the conversation? That I was curious about his life, answering his question about what I do for fun, ending with another question for him? Apparently, I was very VERY wrong. 

Witness, dear readers, my descent from "quite beautiful" to bitter bitch alone.  HIS FINAL EMAIL:

I must confess.  I looked at your pictures and was smitten.  The picture of you holding the baby was my favorite...you are quite beautiful.  Then I read your profile.  I figured that much of what you wrote was for show [Wait - you mean the part you said you really liked of what I had to say??  Sorry, folks, I doubt I can get through this without running commentary.]...so I sent a simple email.  You came back with a forked tongue [I'm sorry, you mean when I THANKED you for the compliment?], so I felt inclined to perry.  You see, I too write for my business and in fact have been published in several trade magazines [Hold on a second, my eyes just rolled under my desk].  Your next response was at best mean spirited.  [That would be the one in which I had the audacity to ask him about the age difference, folks.]  I then hurled my best "smart ass" back at you in an attempt to show you that not all of us here are a bunch of mindless jackasses.  I emailed you in earnest and pulled back a bloody stump.  [Oh, yes ... yes, he did.]  In my opinion, if you continue with your current path of courtship you will accomplish your goal of being single forever.  Next time a good guy (like me) [*coughsputterbullshitcough*] says hello?  Say hello back, and focus less on punctuation and more on getting to know him.  [You mean like ask him what he does for fun and how long he's been looking? THAT sort of thing? *face palm* I should have totally thought of .. OH WAIT ... I DID.]  He just might be who you are looking for.  Good luck to you.  Signed, Bitch slapped ["normal" guy's name].

Wow.  I just ... Wow. 

Really.  How do you respond to something like that? DO you respond? 

I did.

I've tried to be honest in my profile, [name], which is why there are several references to "sarcastic" and "smart ass."  My ribbing was in jest and I asked the age question because I was curious.

I'm sorry that you were offended; it was not my intention.

But, hey, kudos for smacking me down and foretelling of my bitter life alone, you are a true gentleman.

I was about to describe the above reply as "short and to the point," but to have been truly short and to the point, my response would have been:

Jackass.

And THAT is how I went from beautiful to bitter, lonely bitch in three emails.  Impressive, eh? 

Although, one friend commented that the Justacogitating he knew could have done it in two. 

Hmm.

I think I've just been challenged.

But Soft! What Light Through Yonder Window Breaks?

It is the East, and Mango is the ... incredible new and massive software update for Windows Phone. 

[No, not Apple.  Seriously, why must we give our technology fruit names? Is it because we typically believe that it's "sweet" but, like food, it is already beginning to stale and decompose by the time we get it? Ooh, deep.]

At 7:55 p.m. on October 18, 2011, I began the now daily process of connecting my HTC Trophy to my netbook, clicking "Check for Updates," and crossing my fingers (and legs, and toes, and hair, all sorts of body parts).  At times, I would also attempt the "force" Mango trick I've seen both suggested in a comment here and elsewhere on the web.  Invariably, I would curse my apparent lack of timing skills for failing to "force" Mango.  Additional cursing would ensue and then chocolate would be required. 

Last night, however, oh, last night, I ended up staring dumbly at the screen for several seconds trying to process the "An Update is Available for Your Phone" message in front of me. 

Reeeeeeallly?  An update for me? 

I'll admit it - there was laughter, there was a jumping up and down, and ... an immediate nervousness.  I had read of several individuals with "brick" problems following step "8" in the update.  Being rather tech-challenged, I'm not familiar with this "brick" terminology but it evokes an image of throwing one's phone through a window like you, I mean, others .... other bad bad people ... would a brick. 

A phone rendered useless.  *shudder*

[That isn't to say that a brick is useless. Obviously, bricks are literally building blocks and were an important part of my childhood home but ... I digress.  You should be used to that by now.]

And so, I entered into the update process, eager but cautious.  Steps one through nine took only 20 minutes and I cheered (again, literally, and I'm sorry neighbors but, hey, when my night terror SCREAMS don't apparently bother you enough to check on my safety, I think you'll live through an occasional happy "Yay!"). 

Oh, wait, it wants me to look for updates again and ... oh, okay, another one is available?  Cool.  No problem.  [Actually, at this point I was uber nervous and worried about entering into some perpetual update cycle.]

Nine more steps.  Wow, this time is taking way longer than that first quickie (as so often is the case).  The download alone, oye, maybe 40 minutes or so?  The transfer and installation was also longer.  I lifted weights, checked the update, did some crunches, checked the update, did some push-ups, checked the update.  [In retrospect, an update a day would do my body good.] 

In total, it took just over 2 hours for the entire process.  Step 8 - restarting the phone - seemed to take forever but I think that was just me being paranoid. 

Whew ... she was up and running and Mango-ized.

I handled her gingerly (good phones, like good cars, are always female), and started the Mango discovery process.  The live tiles are even more alive and animated.  The People hub now includes groups so my family and close friends are just a touch away rather than several websites away.  My "Me" live tile allows me to post on social media, check in, set my chat status, see my social notifications and profile - all in one spot.  The camera has a quick fix for photos (although I still like the Photo Enhancer app), and sharing is easier.  And ringtones - OH JOY AND RAPTURE! - ringtones!!  I downloaded the 99 cent easyRing app, which allows you to search through a ton of free mp3 ringtones from Amazon.com and Mobiles24.com and am happily set. 

[In other words, I'll again recognize my Dad calling by hearing the theme to Smoky and the Bandit.] 

I'm still very much in the discovery process with Mango but I'm LOVING what I've seen so far. 

I'm am officially a Windows Phone 7.5. 

Yep, Mango is the Sun. 

Life Is Good!

Long, long ago in an internet far far away …

...

Back before Facebook was both a noun and verb, before I had even heard the word Twitter, back over five years ago, I met a group of misfits on an American Idol public message board.

I had started watching the show and was searching for information online when I came across an MSN public message board dedicated to American Idol. It was season five – the year of Taylor Hicks, and the shocking upset when Chris Daughtry failed to make it to the final two. The year of Ace, Bucky, Katherine, Kellie, Mandisa, Elliott, Paris and Kevin. It remains the only year I religiously watched the show and the board was a huge part of the experience. The message board was hysterical, including people from all over the world in one spot sharing their views about the show and the contestants and, essentially, living out a true Peyton Place drama of their own. There were fights, love-fests, taunts, and attacks. Smaller groups of closer friends formed, flourished, fought, and failed.

We began only knowing each others' screen names. Looking back, that was when I became Justacogitating online. We began as anonymous strangers who slowly came to know more and more about each other and, even more slowly, came to trust each other. The show ended; however, the message board continued for a substantial amount of time. The same screen names kept popping up under new “threads” devoted to topics ranging from politics (always dangerous) to sports (equally so) to daily threads where now friends would stop by just to say hello.  As we grew closer, the level of anonymity lessened yet there is something about a group of people online, a step removed in one way from your daily life that allowed, at times, an even more open discussion of tough issues.  Honestly, there are things about me that only my “board” friends know even though they have never met me in person.

A few people eventually opened up private message boards and invited friends to join them in a bit less public setting and our friendships grew even deeper. The drama continued as well. Some private boards lasted only a few months while others, well, technically, others continue yet today.  I had no idea back in 2006 that I would still have daily contact with some of those “anonymous strangers” that I met on an American Idol message board – but they form an important and unique part of my circle of friends and family.

Why am I waxing poetic about an American Idol message board?

Yesterday, we lost one of our originals, if you will.

Even the online impression of Pam aka “Wink” was that of a mother hen – at least that was always my impression of her. I believe she was the same online as she ever was at home – an open and caring individual who only wanted the best for those around her. Pam emphasized her belief – her basic belief – that life is good. In fact, at one time, she hosted a board by the same name. She was always quick to encourage and difficult to anger. She strove for the resolution of conflicts between individuals; hence, my mother hen comparison. A beloved wife, mother, and friend, Pam touched many lives and will continue to do so.

Hearing of her death prompted me to reminisce about the wacky group of people I met so long ago. It’s odd … I know my original name and Pam’s but there are so many of those originals whose screen names I have forgotten. I remember Carolina_Girl (but it seems there was "sweet" in there somewhere at one time, right?), Acefan, Sha, BlueEyes, and a few others but it is frustrating not to remember more.

I guess it is the people I remember rather than their screen names and perhaps that is the way it should be.   

[That said, if you care to share some of the old names, I’d love to have my memory jogged some more!  Seriously ... ]

Life is good!

A lady named Wink told me so.

 

A Match.com Experiment (Yeah, That's It)

I've dived into that ever-entertaining world of Match.com ... again. 

How is Match comparing to that evil entity eHarmony I tried last year?

In the words of one of my uber-eligible suitors: It is what it is and it ain't what it ain't.

It is entertaining. It ain't necessarily fruitful.

[Side note: Please guys, please please ... avoid profile pictures in which you wear both cap and sunglasses. Not only does it make it impossible to actually see what you look like, it also whispers "serial killer".]


Now, before you decide to lecture me on my bad attitude about the whole process, rest assured that I am well aware that my lack of bubbly "life is glorious, I'm just missing you" optimism works against me, although I have serious doubts that I'd actually be attracted to the guy looking for the above.

Regardless, one of the many things I've noticed while searching for that pansy Prince Charming (other than my increasing - who knew that was possible - cynicsm) is that many of the men on Match.com seek ONLY those women younger than themselves.

Seriously.  Not even up to their own age.

Many a Mr. 45 seeks a Ms. 27-40.  A Master 55 seeks a Mistress 35-45.

Hmm.  Regardless of whether this need for youth stems from the middle-ager suddenly ready for a family or hoping for a trophy wife or both, I've decided that two can (potentially) play that game.
 
Therefore, gentlemen, the profile has been updated and the search criteria altered.  Let the games begin.

In short, the inner cougar needs a good ... stretch.

On the Border of Hoarder

Most of us have, at one time or another, looked around and recognized that it was time for a good long purging of things, a cleaning out of the home; this traditionally coincides with spring, i.e., spring cleaning.  We've hibernated all winter long, snug in our warm homes, and when spring finally (always later than hoped for) shows up, we're ready to open up windows, air out the house, and begin tossing out the old and bringing in the new just as Mother Nature is doing the same.

Yeah, so it's October.  I'm a little behind.

I looked around this week and began to calculate how long certain items had been occupying the same space in my home; hence the name of this post.  According to the Mayo Clinic, a true hoarder would have the following symptoms:

• Cluttered living spaces [Well, now, who doesn't from time to time.]
• Inability to discard items [No problem there ... eventually.]
• Keeping stacks of newspapers, magazines or junk mail [Wow, it's really time to take that stack of newspapers to the zoo for poo patrol.]
• Moving items from one pile to another, without discarding anything [Isn't this called sorting?]
• Acquiring unneeded or seemingly useless items, including trash or napkins from a restaurant [Now, come on, why would I toss a perfectly good napkin?]
• Difficulty managing daily activities, including procrastination and trouble making decisions [Oh, shit.]
• Difficulty organizing items [Again, I do this ... eventually.]
• Shame or embarrassment [Of course, no one is allowed here until this mess is cleaned up.]
• Excessive attachment to possessions, including discomfort letting others touch or borrow possessions [Hey, I only had a minimal reaction to seeing my old stuffed animals in a garage sale. Yay!]
• Limited or no social interactions [Oh, shit.]

Now, before I offend anyone (or probably after), I do not consider myself an actual hoarder and, however popular, the show "Hoarders" disturbs me. If someone you know truly fits within the symptoms above, they need help before they endanger themselves or others. 

I'm more in line with the general population who procrastinate unpleasant tasks.

Yep, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

My present mess stems in part from the switching of vehicles (explained here) and the accompanying, frantic emptying of old Red.  I'd like to say that I took the time to carefully sort through the items that have lived in my car for some time now but ... well ...

... it just seemed easier at the time to grab some bags and dump everything into them.  So that was September 28th - about a week and a half ago. 

Of course, this picture was taken about 30 minutes ago.  Oops.

I've also been working a lot, gone a bit, and just generally busy.  The other picture taken 30 minutes ago was of my bed, shared only because it has never ever ... ever ... been in such a state:

*cringe*

I know, I know.  I'll start there. 

Ooh, but there is that movie I want to see at Celebration Cinema. 

Oh ...  it doesn't start for another two hours. 

*sigh* 

Time to fire up the washer/dryer.  And shredder.

You know ... now that I've procrastinated even longer by writing this post.

Nipping the hoarderesque tendencies in the mess. 

Yep.  That's what I'm doing today.

Right ...

NOW.